by Gayle Callen
In the drawing room, Adelia, too, was standing at the window, and Faith half expected a scolding.
“The Duke of Rothford visited me,” Adelia said on a dreamy sigh.
Faith gave her a gentle smile. “He is a very polite man.”
Adelia eyed her. “Even with your foolishness. Really, Miss Cooper, should not a companion be less easily flustered?”
Faith nodded soberly.
Adam was not going to abandon the notion of helping Miss Cooper, even though his impromptu visit at the Warburtons’ town house had caused Lady Warburton to trumpet the news all over London, as if he were actively courting her daughter. Three days later, at another ball, he escorted his aunt, who gave up plans for the opera when he insisted she attend the ball with him. She studied him with narrowed eyes, then did not question him, only refused to change her gown, though Marian professed that it was completely wrong for a ball. But fashion had never concerned Aunt Theodosia.
In the carriage, his aunt studied him openly, and he wondered if she was looking for a weakness to exploit, so she could discover his purpose. That amused him, but he concealed his smile.
He shouldn’t be enjoying the chase of Miss Cooper so much, especially since it all began with a tragedy he helped cause. It wasn’t like the pursuit of a lover, full of intrigue and desire, but it was almost taking the place of that, which even he found strange.
At the ball, he remained at his aunt’s side, though her friends tried to draw her into the refreshment room, and his tried to draw him to the card room. Lord Shenstone stood watching him, curly auburn hair somewhat subdued by Macassar oil. He didn’t talk, only smirked, like Adam’s fall from grace was only a matter of time. Adam nodded politely, but he wasn’t ready to deal with the friend who’d once accompanied him to the worst places in London.
He spotted Miss Cooper standing with a group of dowdy-looking women near a wall, trying to look older than she really was. He ducked behind a column and pulled his aunt with him.
She rapped his forearm with her fan. “What is so important that we must be concealed?”
“I need your help with a young lady,” he said. He’d given up thought of using his sister to lure Miss Cooper. Sophia was too obviously good at making her own friends, and Miss Cooper had seen that.
“Who are you talking about?” She blinked at him, then lifted her monocle and studied him like a bug disturbing the butterfly collection she’d created when she joined the Entomological Society.
“Miss Faith Cooper. But if she knows I’ve put you up to it, she’ll refuse, and I can’t have that.”
“Do not tell me this is an amour of yours.”
He raised both hands. “She is not. But there is a connection, and she has refused all of my offers of help.”
“Of course she has. It is highly improper for a woman to accept help from a man unless she’s of service to him.”
He winced. “I don’t wish to discuss that with my aunt. Just let me point her out to you, but don’t let her see you’re with me.”
“Is she a shopkeeper you’d like to elevate?”
“Aunt Theodosia, you do not have to believe the worst of me anymore,” he said sternly.
She eyed him with twinkling eyes. “I do not, believe me. But you were always such a scalawag, and since you’ve returned from India, some of the . . . spark has gone out of you. This is the most excitement you’ve shown since you returned. Perhaps you should explain.”
He exhaled. “Just look at her first, will you? She’s not a shopkeeper, but a gentleman’s daughter from the North who fell on hard times because of me. She’s the companion to the daughter of Baron Warburton. Do you know of him?”
“I know of the family, but he seldom comes to London, so I would not recognize him on sight.”
He peered around the column and spotted Miss Cooper. “She’s seated with the other wallflowers, third from the corner, ridiculous clothing and dark hair pulled back severely to make her look older.”
Aunt Theodosia displayed her fan again and fluttered it before her face, leaving only her eyes visible between her turban and the fan. “Ah, I see who you mean. Quite a plain creature, for you.”
“I’ve told you I’m only interested in helping her.”
She leaned back against the column and gazed up at him. “Why?” she asked simply, all amusement gone from her wrinkled face.
The truth tumbled out, and he told her everything. Her eyes grew moist, but she did not cry.
“Oh, Adam,” she murmured when he was done. “Surely in your heart of hearts, you know this was an accident of war, that you made the best decision you could, with the only information you had available.”
“That doesn’t matter, does it?” he said bitterly. “Her brother is just as dead, and she lost her only means of support. My actions have kept her from marrying, have forced her to work for a family that uses her as a lady’s maid, for God’s sake, when she’s a gentlewoman. Three men died, Aunt; my friends Knightsbridge and Blackthorne are doing what they can to help the other two victims’ families. I will not fail to do my part, even though Miss Cooper resists everything I try.”
“Does she know why you want to aid her?” she asked gently.
“I told her the truth, and of course she’s furious with me, but . . . her rejection isn’t all about that, I think, although I do not know its true source.”
She nodded and peered back to the crowded ballroom, where Miss Cooper still sat, surrounded by older ladies and plain-faced sad girls.
“I’m glad you finally told me everything, Adam. It has been a black cloud hovering around you. Maybe now it will begin to lessen its hold on you.”
“Three men are dead because of me, Aunt. I don’t think that’s something you leave in the past, like forgetting a friend’s birthday.”
She shrugged. “In my long life, there have been many tragedies I thought I would never get past, but in the end, our nature is such that the mind allows forgetfulness, that we might find happiness again.”
He shrugged, unconvinced. “The death of a spouse must surely be one of those events. I know you loved Lord Duncan.”
“Yet that is a sadness that women know most of us will eventually endure. But, Adam, I bore five babies that were either dead at birth or died within hours.”
Shocked, he gazed down at her with wide eyes. “Aunt Theodosia, I am so sorry. I never knew.”
“You were very young, and such things weren’t discussed. But I found happiness again, Adam, and you will, too.”
He didn’t say anything, because he couldn’t believe that. But helping Miss Cooper would go a long way toward restoring some of his equanimity. “So you will help me?”
“Of course I will. She looks like a fine young lady. Explain your plan.”
And so he did.
She tapped him with her fan again. “Then I’m off. But I’ll choose the moment I wish to approach her, so do not rush me.”
He smiled. “I trust you.”
She rejoined her friends and Adam found himself the recipient of welcoming smiles from mamas and their daughters. Not so much the fathers—until their wives elbowed them. He didn’t blame them. He wouldn’t want a man with his past courting his sister.
He had vowed to dance as much as he could to raise the spirits of young ladies—but it also had the side effect of unsettling Miss Cooper. She seemed to think he might embarrass her by asking her to dance, and although he knew it a bad idea, he wished he could. He wondered how she would feel in his arms, imagined her to be light on her feet, if her stride escaping him the other day was any way to judge. He hadn’t bothered to catch up with her, because it was so enjoyable to watch the swish of her skirts from behind, and to realize those bulky skirts subtly disguised her as much as that severe hair. Where at first he’d thought her Cooper’s elder
sister, he’d since changed his mind.
“So you’re finally away from the skirts of your family.”
Shenstone’s voice was soft and wry near Adam’s ear, and he turned to find his oldest friend standing close, arms crossed over his chest, expression cynical and sardonic and vastly amused.
For a moment, Adam felt like time had not passed, that the two of them still ruled the underworld of London, where there were no rules.
But six years ago, Adam had broken away from his family, believing he had to support himself before that day when his brother inherited the title and showed Adam exactly what he thought of his “half” brother. Instead, Adam had made terrible mistakes, become the duke, and was now trying to be a different person.
He clasped Shenstone’s hand firmly, and they grinned at each other. “Good to see you, old man,” Adam said.
“Rothford.” Shenstone looked him over. “I never thought I would call you that. Does the mantle of near royalty rest so heavy on your shoulders that you could not come among your lesser friends?”
“You know that’s not true.”
“Do I?” his friend said lightly, but his eyes showed no amusement. “I’ve heard you’ve been back as long as six months.”
Adam blinked at him a moment. “I hadn’t realized so much time had passed. I had pressing business to finish up after resigning my commission, and was in the North for some time.” Chasing a woman—how Shenstone would laugh at that, especially since it wasn’t for the usual reasons one needed a woman.
“I do understand that things have changed for you,” Shenstone admitted, sounding almost reluctant. “You were never bred for the ducal ‘honor,’ and I imagine there might be a lot to discover.”
Adam shrugged. “My father always believed in hiring the best men of business, including his steward, bailiffs, and land agents. They’re still doing their work, leaving me with little to do to assist.”
“You make that sound like a bad thing.”
It was. Adam still had yet to find a way to be a part of his dukedom. He didn’t want to simply benefit from the money and prestige. There had to be something else for him to do. He’d gone into the army looking for a purpose, and now that he’d had to give that up . . . well, he had yet to find a true substitute.
Except, of course, for his obsession with Miss Cooper. He forced himself not to glance in her direction. Nothing got by Shenstone, and Adam wasn’t about to betray his interest—his purely professional and helpful interest.
“Together, we can find much to occupy your time,” Shenstone reminded him. “In fact, tonight there is a particular hell that needs our attention.”
Adam remembered the smoke of the dark rooms, the vivid décor, the roulette and dice tables—and the women. There’d been times, in his spiting of his father, that he’d disappeared into one for several days, and the memories were still not all present.
But now he was the face of his family, with duties to uphold, women to protect and guide, including his unmarried sister. He didn’t want Sophia married to anyone like himself—or Shenstone. She deserved an honorable, educated, respectable man, who hadn’t squandered parts of his life in the worst sorts of behaviors. And he would see that happen.
“I don’t know when I’ll next be able to visit our old haunts,” Adam said.
“The Crown weighs heavy upon your brow?”
Adam chuckled, but Shenstone’s smile was cool.
“The fate of my sister concerns me, the honor of my family. I seem to have to be a different sort of man now.” India and Afghanistan had begun the transformation, but how could he explain that to Shenstone, whose only hardship had been getting ejected from Oxford, to his father’s displeasure? “But just because the gaming hells cannot appeal to me anymore does not mean I’m against joining you at our club or the fencing academy.”
“At White’s? With the old men?”
“They’re not all old,” Adam said quietly.
“Next you’ll be saying you’re looking for a wife.”
“Eventually I’ll have to, shan’t I? The heir, and all that.”
“You’re choosing this, Chamberlin—Rothford,” Shenstone corrected himself. “Remember sweet Louisa, the actress you used to consort with?”
He did, and the memories were uncomfortably erotic. “She’s in the past now.”
“I refuse to allow you to do this to yourself,” Shenstone insisted.
Adam eyed him. “I don’t believe you have a choice.”
“We’ll see.”
Chapter 5
Faith forced herself to relax when she did not see the Duke of Rothford. She saw his sister, sister-in-law, and mother, but if he was around, he was remaining in the card room with the other gentlemen. So as she watched Adelia and performed her duties as occasional sounding board and rest partner—the young woman never liked to be alone!—Faith also studied the dancers, especially enjoying the gowns of the women. Maybe she should make a study of fashion as part of her quest to become a chaperone . . .
And then, from across the room, she saw a face from her past. And he was watching her, too.
Timothy Gilpin, once her childhood friend, and then more.
She had come to him when her brother had died, when they were selling the paintings off the wall and poverty beckoned. She’d asked him if he would mind if she requested a letter of reference from his father, a respected baron whose library she’d spent hours in every day.
But Timothy, then engaged to be married, had thought her request would call attention to their past relationship. Faith had bowed to his wishes, owing him loyalty since he’d kept secret their relationship. But without references, she’d been unable to secure a position a gentlewoman would aspire to.
Did Timothy wonder where she’d gone when she’d left their village? Did he suspect the lengths she had to go to, in order to survive?
Now he was staring at her a bit wide-eyed, his face its usual paleness beneath his shock of red hair. And then he inclined his head toward her, and she did the same. He seemed to take that as permission to approach. After everything they’d once meant to each other, she wasn’t sure what she felt upon facing him again, except wariness.
She rose to meet him, giving him a faint smile. “Good evening, Mr. Gilpin.”
“And to you, Miss Cooper.” He glanced around. “I had not thought to see you in London.”
At such an exclusive ball, were obviously his unspoken thoughts.
“I am employed by Lord Warburton as a companion to his daughter.”
“Ah, I see.”
They’d once been close friends, and to see now by his smile that he was conscious of his superior station as the heir to a barony, made her sad.
When the silence stretched out, she said, “I remember that you were engaged.”
“And I did marry.”
“Is your wife in attendance?”
“She is not,” he said swiftly, lowering his brows.
As if he wanted to make sure Faith didn’t meet her. Very well, she understood that.
Or did he know what Faith had had to do to survive after her brother’s death?
No, how could he? She’d moved to another parish, and her mother would certainly never tell people.
“Well, please give her my congratulations,” Faith said.
Timothy nodded. “My thanks. A good evening to you, Miss Cooper.”
He moved away, and she sat down, feeling a mixture of several emotions, but the predominant one being relief. What if she’d had to marry that man?
Oh, but in his youth, he’d been a fine companion, eager to run about the village exploring frog ponds and collecting unusual pebbles. They’d both loved to read, and the hours in his family library were some of her more precious memories.
And then in their
adolescence, they’d begun to see each other as a man and a woman. Their first kiss had almost been accidental, both of them bent over a particular book in the library, then practically bumping heads as they turned to discuss it. She wasn’t even certain which of them kissed the other first. After that, they were different with each other, aware of feeling an attraction, desperate to be alone to talk, hold hands, and steal more kisses.
It wasn’t much later that the kisses became more.
“Miss Cooper?”
She blinked and brought herself back to the present. Before her stood a tiny elderly woman, and when Faith rose to her feet, the woman barely came up to her chin. She wore an empire-waist gown from another era, plenty of necklaces that jingled together with her slight tremor, and a turban wrapped about her head. She now studied Faith through a monocle that dangled from a jeweled chain.
“Good evening, ma’am,” Faith said, curtsying. “Have we met?”
“No, we have not, young lady, and I decided to remedy that. I was looking for a place to sit and someone pointed out the open chair next to you.”
Someone? she thought, but didn’t question her.
“I am Lady Duncan. Do sit beside me and keep me company.”
Faith waited until the lady sat down slowly, using her cane, before she took her own seat.
Sighing as she stretched out one leg, Lady Duncan said, “Ah, that is better. These sorts of events are such a crush, and I find it difficult to stand so much. People talk over my head, of course, and it grows most tiresome asking them to repeat themselves with all this loud music. You speak right into my good ear, Miss Cooper, and we’ll get along famously.”
Faith smiled at her. “May I fetch you a drink, my lady?”
“Oh, no, then I’ll have to be in the ladies’ retiring room all the time.”
Faith blinked and hid a snort of laughter at such refreshing honesty.
“Eh, I look at all these foolish young girls, pining away for a dance, and I feel sorry for them.”